


Demons of the Past

by Milamat



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Child Abuse, but lambo's having a mcfucking bad time, lambert just kinda breaks down rip, talking about his past n all, the ship is mainly implied nothing really happens here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:48:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26943154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Milamat/pseuds/Milamat
Summary: I don't want to die.I have a whole life before me.The footsteps grew louder, the horse's panting and his father's wheezing clearer. The stranger didn't dismount the steed but held by the fence and a little arch, and instead thundered:"Give me the first thing you see when you get home."A tale of how Lambert became a witcher. Bitter, bitter memories.
Relationships: Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 38





	Demons of the Past

The nights had begun drawing in recently, and tonight was no exception. Two witchers bundled together by the fire for extra warmth, two pairs of golden eyes reflecting the dancing embers. Saovine was nigh; one could feel it in their bones soaked with chillness of the air. The migratory period of the monster slayers hailing from the wolven school had begun weeks ago, and Lambert was no different in this regard. His companion, from the one of the Cat, was to be a guest in the keep of Kaer Morhen. With no clear plans for persuading Vesemir to let Aiden overwinter there yet, the youngest Wolf set all his hopes in his personal charm. And just a little bit of bribery should his charisma prove to be fit for the dust hole. It seemed impossible to harbor any dislike for the feline witcher, however. Unlike his fellows, he felt differently about accepting assassination contracts; monsters or bust, as he would often say. And this was to become their bargaining chip in case the mentor of the Wolves remained adamant in his refusal. Lambert was convinced that alongside the senses, the mutations enhanced Aiden's empathy reflex, a virtue quite unusual about someone in such a profession. And although his unfavorable reputation preceded him, he strived to prove the world otherwise. For that benevolence, by all the gods, Lambert fell in love with him so madly and so greedily. He could feel a pair of cat-like pupils, dilated by the darkness wrapping its arms around them, focus on him intently.

"Something wrong with my face? Got any stew leftovers stuck on my beard?" With a tease in his voice, the Wolf tilted his head and rubbed his mouth impassively. "You're staring, and under different circumstances, I would think it's an invitation."

"Something's wrong with you, Lambert," Aiden replied, knitting his eyebrows and narrowing his eyes to protect them from the smoke from the fire now blowing in their direction. "You've been uneasy these days. Restless, even. Always awake before me, and Melitele be my witness. It never happens."

"Didn't sign up for psychoanalysis," the retort nearly cut in the other man's utterance. "Thanks for noticing, though. Must've been this cabbage with peas we had in the One-Eyed Rooster the other day. Haven't stopped shitting fire ever since. What's a better rouse than your bowels about to explode rotfiend style?"

"Drop the pose, it's not funny one bit. I can tell you're in two minds. And I want to know why."

The feline witcher was right. Lambert's thoughts had been spiraling in an overwhelming pattern, depriving him of a full night's sleep from the time of their last visit in one of the villages. His head felt dizzy, and he found it difficult to focus on the simplest tasks. For once, he enjoyed empty notice boards on their way to Kaer Morhen, unsure how he'd perform during a hunt with the current of intrusive reveries cluttering his focus. Aiden didn't share his indistinct enthusiasm, cursing under his breath at the inability to earn some coin. Witcher or not, sleeping under the stars so late into the year would leave a mark in the future, and he knew this much. Thus hurry was of the essence. They had to reach the keep before the first snows. Lambert, lumping along behind his companion, seemed not to share the sentiment. The Cat noticed the change in the other man's behavior but decided to temporarily turn a blind eye to it. This wouldn't be the first time the wolven witcher's mood would take a turn for the worse. Now, however, it seemed more permanent than ever before. And he couldn't keep his observations to himself any longer.

"You can tell me all about it," he reassured, pressing himself closer to his lover and lowering his voice. "Be honest with me, Lambert. I will only take it that way. And I won't keep pretending I don't see you struggle with a worry you refuse to open up about."

"I can, but I'm not sure if I want to. I'll be fine any day now. Seasonal melancholy, you know?"

"Lambert."

"What?"

"Spare me that bullshit. You can feed that to anyone, not me."

"Stop pushing," the redhead warned, baring his teeth and moved to the side, further from his companion. "There are just some things I don't wanna talk about. I'm in no mood for a heart-to-heart talk."

"I won't stop. If I did, I wouldn't be myself, and you know it full-well. When will you ever be in a mood, Lambert? My hair's gonna go gray before that happens."

"I'm warning you. You're crossing the line, Aiden."

"Why? Because I care about you? Or because I refuse to let you rot alone with your troubles? We've all got issues, you're not exempt from that, and now that you know of mine, I feel like I deserve to know of yours. An honesty for honesty, that's all I'm asking for."

"Fine!" The emotional outbreak was so sudden the feline witcher could have sworn a well-casted Aard would've caused less damage. Working himself up throughout Aiden's words, Lambert felt a rage almost primal, born to suppressed fright and chagrin again poking at him incessantly for the last few days. He never spoke of those things to anyone. Out of shame? Or merely because the truth cut more deeply than a furious nekker's claw? It could be either, it could be both. The mask of cynicism sat well enough with him to never get rid of it.

"Fine! If you insist! Remember that village we crossed through last week?  _ Creek  _ was its name, I think, but it doesn't matter. I witnessed a scene there. A happy merry fucking cheerful one. A boy, just barely standing at five feet from what I've gathered, and his parents. Toiling in the field, they were, just like all the other peasants, no big deal. But they seemed ... happy. Loving each other, even. What a sweet ploughin' idyll, really."

"And that's bothering you?" Aiden finally braved to chime in. "People, who stick together despite hardships in life?"

"Not at all. If that ain't a nice view. Makes you wanna sit there and reflect on the wonders of rural living, doesn't it? All the village people support each other, right? Families are tight, mothers give their children bread with lard, and wives kiss their husbands upon waking. Fathers raise their sons to take over the inheritance, show them how to do just about everything they know themselves. But a dream, not an ordinary life! Oh, bloody hell."

Much as the other witcher wanted Lambert to get to the point already, he never spoke a word about it. Listening in silence and suspense building up with each sentence, he made an attempt to shift closer anew and, surprisingly, met no resistance. Just like their medallions reacting to sources of magic, Wolf's body quivered in aggravation. Something big was coming, that was certain. Interrupting was off-limits.

"You see, I'm a peasant too. I come from Grimefair, a rotten hole a stone's throw away from the border with Kaedwen. Not the brightest future awaited those who had the misfortune of being born in this middle of nowhere. Everyone knew each other, as there were only what, thirty of us there? Hardly a place for incorporating self-growth practices, unless your goal was to outdrink the local champion of the inn's mug. Who, by the way, happened to be my father. It's a long story."

"We have time."

"Very fucking well, then."

* * *

Awaiting the family's head to return home always felt like waiting for the ax to fall. And Lambert could never be so sure if the saying's metaphorical nature wouldn't get a more literal meaning. Whatever money his mother made for selling grain and small handicraft was immediately spent on booze and other earthly pleasures of her husband. Frankly, he couldn't recall a day where his father would deny alcohol and walk around sober. Sometimes, he would pass out in the drinking den he had established with his flask mates in the outskirts of the village. Other days, he could be found in the gutter, smeared with mud and excrement, both animal and human. Most often, however, his father would find his way back home and give vent to all his frustrations and aggression. Much to Lambert and his mother's dismay, his preferred tool was his fists. This hail fell on them combined with insults and threats, more often than not of a deadly kind. Their bodies, blue from bruises and pink from scar tissue, could only get some rest should the other scenarios happen. In whatever free time they had, prayers would be sent to whichever god was willing to lend an ear. 

_ Please, o' mighty one! Hear our pleas! This man no longer belongs with us, the human race, 'tis a monster kind he be a spawn of! We beg you, o' omnipotent one! Send plague upon him! Can't you see our suffering? Cast your wrath upon him!  _

_ Spare us, poor tormented souls!  _

And just once, it so happened that their pleading bore fruit. The torturer lost his way home from the inn after plenty a round of heavy drinking. With a vision too blurry to notice and mind too hazy to comprehend the danger ahead, he fell into the nekkers' nest just outside the settlement. Long absence was hardly a surprise to his wife and the only child anymore, more a dreadful mixture of relief and being on tenterhooks. On the one hand, no father meant no beating. On the other, the longer he was gone, the more he drank, and the more aggressive he could return. There was just no positive way out. But for two victims of domestic violence, even a few hours of peace from their executioner was enough.

After a sleepless night, as dawn began, two silhouettes appeared on the horizon. One of them was apparently staggering and stumbling over their own legs, while the other rode on horseback. The rider wasn't a familiar face, and besides, no one carried a sword in this area, let alone two. Lambert looked out through a creak in the shutters. "Mother," he whispered. "Mommy. He's coming. And he hired a thug, too." His short life flashed before the hazel of his eyes, watering them in pure fear.  _ He wants to kill us for good,  _ he panicked,  _ but incapable of it, he hired a murderer. We'll be slaughtered like swine. We've nothing to fight back with. Mommy's barely standing anymore, losing her mind. Is this how it ends? _

_ I don't want to die. _

_ I have a whole life before me. _

The footsteps grew louder, the horse's panting and his father's wheezing clearer. The stranger didn't dismount the steed but held by the fence and a little arch, and instead thundered:

_ "Give me the first thing you see when you get home." _

Lambert's heart thudded in his chest, beating rapidly. What did  _ that _ mean? He found himself short of breath, his lungs felt like two bricks of lead under his ribs. With the corner of his eye, he noticed his mother slowly proceeding to the threshold, assumably to check what the mess in their yard was. The newcomer's words still echoed in his head, and an impulse pushed him towards her to shove her aside, far from the front door.  _ They can't see her _ , his inner voice cried out,  _ who knows what they'll do to her. Not Mommy, not her. _

The knob in the door rotated chaotically, and it was clear the drunkard was still under the influence. Few ill-tempered curses later, the entrance stood ajar, and the hellhound could enter its lair. His bleary sight finally anchored on the young lad after having scanned the surroundings. "There, master witcher!" he gibbered, pointing to his son. "I saw him first! You can take 'im, master, this useless brat. No use of him anyway."

Everything that followed seemed to last only a few heartbeats: hand knitting into a fist on his collar, pulling him out of the safety of the indoors. Great wrath pushing him outside with force Lambert knew all too well. A pair of monstrous eyes resembling that of a cat making him hardly contain a scream of horror. He wanted to flee, right there and now, but his legs were paralyzed with fear. Instead, he stood stuck to the ground, waiting like a doomed man before the scaffold. "Approach, young man," the stranger ordered, only to face disappointment as the boy's body refused to perform even the most basic tasks such as walking. With an ugly grimace on his face, he dismounted the horse, contentedly grazing on the grass on the yard, and proceeded toward his new human possession. "You hard of hearing? You're coming with me." The slam of the door and clicking of the lock behind Lambert's back only solidified his fate. There was nowhere to go. His life now belonged to the witcher.

* * *

"And there you have it. No sugarcoatin'. Seeing those people, it kinda hit too close to home. With your story in mind ... I'm sorry, Aiden. But it still sits balls deep in me, you know?"

"You needn't apologize," the feline witcher's arm never abandoned the wolven one's shoulder, enveloping it in a secure embrace. His hand rubbed the fabric underneath in an attempt at consolation. "I suppose I should be the apologizing party. I shouldn't have pressed you into telling me. I didn't know--."

"Well, now you do," Lambert retorted, though regretted his tone immediately. His voice softened significantly. "You know ... the story has a bittersweet end."

"You don't have to --"

" _ I want to _ , Aiden. Let me finish. I visited my homeplace after the trials. You know, back to the old dirt. I wanted to see what was left of my house and my family. I was shocked to find my excuse of a father still alive and kickin'. Drunk as a skunk, smellin' like one too. A bad thing never dies, as they say. So I decided to help him a little. Gave my steel sword a baptism of blood. My lovely daddy was leaking like a sieve once I was done with him. Fractured bones, broken nose, knocked out teeth. His corpse was battered. And the most terrifying part of it was ... the nothingness after I finished. I didn't know what I expected. Relief? Satisfaction? I saw that bloody sack of fat and bones, and ... I felt empty. But, just to make things clear, I felt no remorse. Still don't."

The campfire began waning. Lambert's trembling now stemmed from both the cold and a tidal wave of subdued memories washing over his mind's shores. Aiden's whisper of Igni eliminated one of those sources at the very least. Long nights came together with late daybreaks; it was impossible to tell the hour yet. It mattered little to either of the witchers, however. They were aware of the sleep not being destined to them that night.

"After that, I went searchin' for my mom. Asked some people, maybe they saw her somewhere. I was almost positive this prick beat her to death after I'd left. Much to my surprise, he did not. Abused her still, yeah, but she managed to flee, and apparently reached some bigger city in Kaedwen. Rushed there immediately, hopin' to reunite. But you know what? I could put those hopes where the moon doesn't shine."

"And why is that..?"

"She didn't recognize me. Ended up begging by some tavern. The keepers told me they'd tried to shoo her away, but she'd always come back. So they let her stay there, eat pigswill and scrounge coppers. Wasn't dangerous, they told me, just bonkers. I tried to talk to her, explain to her I was her son. But she only said her son was dead and asked me not to torture her any longer with fake hope. Never before in my life had I missed the ability to cry, you know? I felt like crap, like a pile of steaming shite. Tucked a purse full of coin into her tiny wrinkled hand, everything I had on me, and left without a word. Never came back there."

The first critters began their daily concerts around the two men; shortly, the birds followed suit. Lambert closed his eyes, the whites around golden irises tainted with red signs of irritation. "No moral to this story. I've been fucked up from the beginning. My life was taken from me in exchange for that prick's life. What a fucking delightful equilibrium. But enough talking. Ready to start some emotional support church group here. I've done my mourning, I've done my part. All I can do is push this cartwheel of manure called life forward."

There wasn't much Aiden could add to it. Neither did he feel like it was necessary. Lambert said the conversation was over, and he most certainly meant it. He wasn't sure where his own emotions lay after facing his lover's tragic past so directly, nearly palpably. The most he could do was offering a comforting cuddle to the side of the wolven one, a wordless statement of solidarity and understanding. The success of his actions got confirmed with Lambert's head resting upon the top of his own.

"Thank you," he heard after a heartbeat, maybe two. Only thanks to the enhanced hearing could he catch that, since Wolf's voice had faltered notably. "For everything. For having me the way I am."

The first rooster in the village nearby announced a new day conquering the night.


End file.
